Her voice was soft when she turned to him and said, “Thank you for the poem. Katherine said it’s from Shakespeare.”
“She’s right. Sonnet 127.”
“Jackson, where on earth did you learn Shakespeare?”
“My father. My mother died when I was young, but reading poetry was one of her favorite pastimes. After her death, when I grew older, my father made me learn some of the ones she liked best, so that I’d have a part of her in me.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine-ten.”
Grace found the story touching.
“Never expected a cowboy like me to know Shakespeare, did you?”
“Frankly, no.”
“Well, I never thought I’d have a use for it outside of honoring my mother’s memory.”
Grace had no trouble deciphering his meaning. His confession made her feel very special indeed.
“And Grace, just so you’ll know, I’ve never given poems to any other woman before.”
She understood that too. “And I’ve never received any from any man before.”
“Then how about we keep it that way?”
She nodded as her heart sang. “We have a deal.”
“Wish we could seal that deal with a kiss.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
“How about I come to your wagon and see you tonight after everything quiets down?”
Grace grinned. That reckless feeling came over her again, as did the anticipation of what it might bring. “You’ll come to my wagon?”
“If you’ll let me.”
“We’ll have to be very quiet.”
“I know.”
She thought for a moment, but knew her reply didn’t need much inner debate. “Then I’ll see you later.”
He winked and she left him smiling.
Anticipation made it hard for Grace to sit still after quiet settled over the camp later that night. She kept peeking out of the back of the wagon’s round canvas to see if he were coming. The two hours she’d been waiting had given her time to go to the nearby creek and wash away the grime and smell of the day’s driving and to put on fresh clothes. She’d even tried to make the interior of the wagon more comfortable by moving some of the crates, barrels, and trunks out of the way so they’d have a place to sit. The crowded inside of a covered wagon didn’t remotely resemble a place for a romantic interlude, but it had to do.
Then she heard his whispered call. “Grace?”
In her haste to greet him, she knocked the side of her knee against the edge of a crate and almost fell. The pain shot through the bone, evoking a very unladylike curse as she hobbled to the back of the wagon.
Outside, Jackson heard the commotion and glanced around quickly to see if anyone else had. When her face finally appeared, he asked softly, concerned, “Are you all right?”
“Hit my damn knee,” she whispered back.
She limped out of the way as he climbed in, then waited and watched as he quietly pulled up the gate behind him and secured it closed.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior, but he soon saw her standing a few feet away.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Bent over and rubbing her knee, she said, “I think so.”
“You should light a candle so you can see.”
“No, the light might give you away. I’ll take a look at it in the morning.”
He ducked down a bit and made his way over to her. Grace’s pain was soon forgotten as he took her into his arms and held her close.
He said, “Never had a woman cripple herself trying to get to me.”
She chuckled and their smiles met. He leaned down and touched his lips to hers and she kissed him back just as softly. Moved by all she was, he rubbed a slow thumb over the skin of her cheekbone while wondering again how he’d ever let her go. He gave her another faint brush across her mouth and she responded by using the tip of her tongue to lightly tease his bottom lip. For long heated moments they did nothing but kiss as if relearning the taste of each other, the shape of their mouths, and the mingling hush of their breathings. He took a moment to find a seat atop a crate, then pulled her onto his lap and began again.
Grace sighed pleasurably as his hands moved to cup her breasts. Her nipples rose and hardened, already divining the intense pleasure to come. He didn’t disappoint. The top buttons of her gray shirtwaist surrendered without a fight and a throbbing moment later the bare expanse of her throat and the tops of her bound breasts were exposed to his lips and the warm night air. His lips paid tribute to her freshly washed skin and he drowned himself in her perfumed scent. She’d bound her breasts with a silk scarf the color of violets. His hands slid over the gossamer-thin covering and her hard nipples teased the center of his palms. He flicked his tongue against the trembling well of her throat, then descended to the silk to dally there until it dampened and clung to the berried flesh.
Grace wondered if any other pleasure on earth equaled this. Every pull of his lips on her breasts echoed sensually through her core. Each pass of his hands set her afire. Rising passions made her want to unveil herself to him fully so she could be taken here in the shadows. Fate had brought them together and destiny would set them apart, but she wanted memories. “Will you make love to me…?”
Jackson’s erection, already hard and ready, pulsed at the sound of her sultry entreaty. He kissed his way to her mouth, wanting to drag her beneath him and fill her until she screamed loud enough to be heard in Chicago. “You’re a virgin, Grace, and we’ve no protection.”
“I don’t care…” Yes, there was the possibility that their joining might produce a child, but if it did, she wouldn’t walk into the arms of an icy lake and end her life. This might be her one and only chance to know the true measure of the passion she’d been seeking from her heart’s mate, and for better or worse, she considered him that.
“Well, I do. No…”
She countered with a kiss she hoped held enough heat to curl his toes. “Yes,” she said softly.
To further tempt him into giving her what she wanted, she took off her blouse, then reached behind her and undid the violet silk binding her breasts. Knowing his eyes were on her, she removed it slowly, yet deliberately. The golden globes shimmered free and were caught by the faint glow of the moon. “Yes,” she whispered.
She stood and began to undo the button on the waistband of her skirt.
In a strangled voice, he asked with alarm, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Seducing you.”
His whole world reeled.
The skirt whispered down her body and pooled in the dark at her feet, exposing her firm legs encased in nothing but her drawers, hose, and shoes. He didn’t have to see her eyes to know they held heat, he could feel it in every pore. Jackson’s heart was racing and he fought to keep his sanity for just a few moments more. One of them had to be sensible and it was obviously not going to be the Pirate Queen. “I’ll let you seduce me on one condition.”
“That being?”
“That if my seed takes, you marry me.”
She paused. Standing there only partially dressed in the heated shadows, she was Eve personified, and Jackson fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. She slid herself between his slightly spread thighs and placed her arms around his neck. Her breasts were beautiful twin temptations perfectly positioned for his pleasuring.
“And if I say no?”
He ran a finger around the aureole of one nipple. “Then, you won’t get this…”
And he suckled her in so possessively her legs turned to water. “Or this…”
The other nipple received the same erotic care, and he raised the stakes by sliding the loose cotton drawers seductively over her bottom until her skin warmed deliciously.
“Say yes, Banker Atwood.”
He flicked his tongue over her nipples again and again and lustily again. She was aching for him, blooming for him, hot for him.
“You�
��re not playing fair…”
“If I’m not cheating, I’m not trying…”
He made her stand, undid the tapes of her drawers, and dragged them down. The bold move set her spinning and she wobbled for a moment on unsteady legs. Without a further word he circled her heat brazenly with erotic fingers that knew far too much about a woman’s pleasure, and she groaned thickly.
“I need your answer, Grace…”
She felt him slide two fingers gently into the swollen damp vent of her core, and the glory of it made her say, “Yes—no—whatever you wish me to say…”
He smiled. “Do you think you’re ready for me?”
She couldn’t speak. She was trembling on the edge of the night’s first release, and his fingers moving so carnally were pushing her closer and closer.
Jackson knew how close she was to climaxing by the way her beautiful body strained and by the small, rhythmic thrusts of her hips, so he widened his fingers just a bit and she shattered with a lusty strangled cry.
Jackson kissed her back down to earth, then slid himself from her warmth.
The surroundings were not conducive to their making love the way he wanted to, but he eased her over to the pallet she used for sleeping and soundlessly directed her to lie down.
Even though Jackson had agreed to her request that he make love to her, he had no intention of honoring it. As much as he wanted to make her his own, he’d no intention of leaving her with a child, especially one who might never know him. His own father had played an important role in his life, and he planned on doing the same for any sons or daughters he might sire, but he wouldn’t be able to if he didn’t leave Texas alive.
He ran hot eyes over the glory of her ripe brown nudity, and his need for her crystallized even more. Unable to resist, he stroked her throat and then bent to place a tender kiss on the valley between her breasts. “You’re so beautiful…”
His hands joined his kisses in a sensual exploration of her lovely brown body, and soon Grace was caught up in the throes of the storm once again. His touches were bold, brazen; his kisses thrilling. When he softly asked her to part her legs, she did so willingly, and he rewarded her with such torrid, dallying slides of his fingers over her soft, damp shrine that Grace’s hips rose shamelessly for more. He bent and flicked his tongue across the shadowy nook of her navel, then brushed his kisses over the inside of her soft skinned thigh. Upon feeling the heat of his breathing near the pulsing spot his fingers had prepared so well, she pulled back in panic. Watching him with wide eyes, she choked out, “What are you doing?”
In answer he ran a lazy finger over the red-gold hair at the apex of her thighs and said, “Giving you another lesson…”
“But—”
“But what?” His bold touch slid over the heat of her once more—teasing her, inviting her to part her legs so he could continue her education. The bliss he evoked as he circled her and tempted her overrode all else. Not caring anymore, Grace surrendered and lay back.
And this time, as his lips and hands unveiled and then awakened the hidden treasure within her hair, shock warred with pleasure at his magnificent expertise. As his mouth found her, all she could do was groan erotically. His loving was masterful, skillful, and so totally wanton that when he brazenly suckled her, her world shattered once more and she had to grab up the bed pillow to cover her face lest her screaming completion awaken everyone in the state of Illinois.
Jackson was harder than he ever remembered being in life, and watching her ride out the turbulent winds of her orgasm only increased his need. Lord, she was lovely; everything about her demanded he brand her as his own now, as his throbbing desire ached to do, but he could not. He couldn’t offer her a future, and until he could, he had no right.
He leaned up and kissed her, and as she returned his kiss, he realized he’d been right. She was the kind of woman a man would take to his grave. Everything about her made him want to keep her at his side always, forever.
Grace had never felt so dazzled, and as she kissed him softly, asked, “Are we going to continue?”
He ran a worshipping finger over her magnificent mouth and said, “No. We’re not.”
“Why not?” she whispered hotly. “I know my education may be lacking, but I do know that you’re supposed to get a turn, too.”
“If I were to have you the way I want to have you, Grace Atwood, you’ll be having triplets in nine months.”
She had the decency to be embarrassed by his frank statement. “But you said—”
“I know, but you’re not ready to marry. You said so yourself, and I—I don’t want a child of mine raised on the memories of a dead father.”
Grace searched his eyes. “It’s Texas again, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. If I don’t come back, it won’t be fair to you and it won’t be fair to the child.”
Grace knew he was right.
“So just let me hold you for now, okay?”
She snuggled up against him and he draped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him.
“I don’t want you to go to Texas.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I know.”
Grace didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she awakened the next morning she was alone.
Chapter 9
On the twentieth day of the journey, the brides spent four hours ferrying their wagons across the Mississippi River and into the state of Missouri. They were wet, exhausted, and drained, but glad to be in Missouri at last. However, by the twenty-third day, their elation turned to misery as they were forced to travel through a cold, bone-chilling rain. The thick, deep mud slowed travel considerably and they spent more time pushing wagons out of the axle-deep mire than they spent driving.
“We look like a tribe of mud women,” Grace called out over the blowing and driving rain, as she and a good many of the women set their shoulders against the back of the Mitchells’ wagon to try and free it from the mud.
“Remind me why we’re going to Kansas City again?” Fanny wailed in mock misery.
“I don’t remember!” Tess Dubois shouted in response.
It rained for three long days, and in those three days they covered barely twenty miles.
Day 26 was a Sunday, and after a few Bible readings, the women gave thanks that no one had contracted a disease or suffered tragedy. They spent the balance of the day rearranging wagon loads and airing out and straightening up the interiors.
A few days later, three of the mules were stolen during the night. The two women on watch (members of the Mitchell contingent) had fallen asleep. An angry Jackson wasn’t pleased by this turn of events and decreed that all night watch members from then on be armed. Those lacking firearm skills were given training by him and Dixon. Those who couldn’t abide weapons armed themselves with cast-iron skillets instead.
The next day, Jackson had Loreli call the brides together. Once they were gathered, he and Dixon reported on four mounted men who seemed to be trailing the wagons.
“Do you think they might be the ones who stole the mules?” Grace asked, as many of the women shaded their eyes against the noonday sun to peer out at the horizon in hopes of seeing the mysterious riders.
“Hard to tell,” Dixon said. “They’re hanging back just far enough to keep from being seen clearly.”
“Who else might they be?” Loreli asked.
Jackson answered, “Drifters looking for a meal—out-laws.”
That word set up a buzz of worry.
“Now, I’m not saying they are, but if they are, you ladies need to be prepared to defend yourselves. Those confident with firearms, check your rifles and keep them close by. Maybe they’re not trailing us, maybe they’re just taking a parallel route, but either way, keep a sharp lookout. If you see anything unusual or suspicious, let someone know.”
Dixon added, “Coyotes usually work at night, so if they are planning something, it’ll probably be after dark.”
For the rest of the day, the women each
kept one eye on their teams and one on the horizon. The ride was an uncharacteristically quiet one. There was no calling back and forth, no visiting amongst those walking beside the wagons as they rolled, and no communal singing of hymns as they made their way. The thought that there might be men out there somewhere waiting to prey on them made everyone tense.
When they circled the wagons for the night and lined up for the dinner meal, the mood was still subdued.
Suddenly, they heard Jackson call out, “Ladies, here they come, they’re riding in slow, get ready, and let me and the marshal do the talking.”
Then Dix added, “If anything happens to us, do whatever it takes to protect yourself.”
Loreli jumped up and ran toward her wagon, but no one knew why. Putting her flight quickly from their minds, the other women checked their guns, then sat at the trestle tables as if this was just another meal. Only they knew that there were long-nosed Colts nestled in skirt pockets, rifles hidden beneath tables and in the folds of skirts. A few of the women casually got up and walked to their wagons and sat quietly inside, rifles at the ready. They may have been women, but they were armed women, and most were not afraid to shoot if it became necessary.
Illuminated by the light of the fire, the four men rode slowly into the camp. They were some of the dirtiest men Grace’d ever seen. The soiled clothes were patched and worn, the boots in their stirrups mud caked and run over. They were looking around discreetly, as if assessing the encampment and the people in it. The women at the tables looked up at their entrance, but no one made a sound.
One of the men, a thin-faced White man who hadn’t seen soap or water in some time, showed off a gap-toothed smile, then called out cheerily, “Evenin’, folks. How you all doin’?”
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